


Butterfly Jasmine

by wraithsonwings



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, M/M, POV First Person, POV Hannibal, Post-Season/Series 03, Scar Worship, Scar porn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-07
Updated: 2018-01-07
Packaged: 2019-03-01 14:05:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,495
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13296456
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wraithsonwings/pseuds/wraithsonwings
Summary: They’ve settled comfortably in Cuba, still Hannibal never tires of watching Will.





	Butterfly Jasmine

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much to my betas [Weconqueratdawn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Weconqueratdawn) and [purefoysgirl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/purefoysgirl) .
> 
> Many thanks again to [purefoysgirl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/purefoysgirl) for the lovely collage/header. :3
> 
>  
> 
> And this never would’ve been possible if not for the all of wonderful people who made the Radiance Anthology possible!

 

 

* * *

 

 

The breeze shifts, carrying the heady scent of butterfly jasmine. I inhale deeply, savouring the delicious aroma. It’s a wonderful reprieve from the rotting food in the dumpster across the lane. I check my watch. The restaurant closed nearly an hour ago. The owner should be out any moment. I tilt my head back to the sky. The moon has risen, cutting through the night like a beacon. It calls us home. I turn to glance at Will. He’s a statue beside me, except for his curls in the wind.

 

The sound of the side door opening draws our attention. The owner steps out and pulls the door shut behind him. He makes his way to the far end of the lot and his waiting car. I turn back to Will. The honour is his. His eyes shine in the dark. I can barely stand to meet them. He sees through me, like no one ever has and no one ever will again. When we met he wasn't one for eye contact. I now know why. It's a trap, but I want to be seen. He smiles at me. It's time to go.

 

Our victim deserves to die. Will has judged it so. He never breaks stride as we cross the open lot. He is determination, and he is fierce. The man stands next to his vehicle, fishing in his pockets for his keys. He doesn't realize that I have taken them. He will not realize until much too late. His fate is sealed as Will comes up behind him. The needle slides in easily, piercing the skin of his neck, into the vein. It’s a rush to watch his skill. I can't keep the smile from my face. Our victim crumples into Will’s arms.

 

I click the fob I’ve pulled from my pocket. It’s only at the sharp snick of sliding locks, that Will turns to me. I close the distance and quickly open the back door to drape our new guest across his backseat. Will has already climbed in the passenger side by the time I close the rear door. I take my place and, with one last look at the focused predator beside me, I turn the key in the ignition. The engine roars to life and a slight burnt smell comes with it. We pull out of the lot to merge into scarce traffic on the highway, heading for the coast and our hideaway there.

  


The trees hang low along the driveway, nearly brushing the roof as we wind our way deep into the property. The buzzing of insects and chirping of frogs are slowly subsumed by the ocean waves as we draw nearer to our destination. The humid air tastes of salt and smells of fish. I glance to my right as we pull up to the small house. Will’s only a profile, a cameo lit by the moon. He doesn’t move as I stop and shift the car into park. I undo my seatbelt and hear the click of his. I turn to him, but he remains a shadow. He leans toward me. I can hear his breath, feel it against my cheek, as he places a soft kiss to my lips.

 

“You settle our guest,” he whispers. “While I ditch this car.”

 

I take his cheek in my hand and, running a thumb across his lips, I taste them once, in parting. My hand is cold, my lips colder still. Turning away, I open the door and climb out. I hear him slide over to my seat as I collect our guest from the back. Once our victim is slung over my shoulder and Will has pulled away, a heaviness settles in my belly. It will not lift until he returns.

 

I make our guest comfortable on the patio. Will would not be long, so I decant some wine and sit back to take in the night. The beach stretches before me, perfect white sand straight to the water’s edge. The moonlight dances in the waves. A shifting breeze clears the air, carrying a floral smell from the garden. The butterfly jasmine overwhelms the other lilies. There is nothing left to do but wait.

  


The familiar hum of an engine heralds Will’s return long before he parks behind the house. When the engine cuts, I pour us each a glass of wine. The lovely red is dark, black in the moonlight, just like blood. I hear Will’s soft footsteps behind me. I can't yet smell him, not over the flowers and the salt, or the wine as I lift it to my lips. I take a taste only once he's settled beside me, his glass in hand. We do not speak. We wait, absorbing the sounds and the smells, the feel of warm air against our skin. Goosebumps rise along my arms as I watch Will out of the corner of my eye. His lids flutter shut. His throat is working with each careful swallow as he sips his wine. My mouth has gone dry and I take another drink from my glass, even though it won’t quench this thirst. The wind ruffles his curls and I yearn to run my hand through them. Later, perhaps. I turn my gaze back to the sea.

 

Our guest stirs. A small whimper escapes his lips. I turn to see his head loll. His chin brushes his chest as it rolls to one side, coming to rest against the high back of the chair. His hand pulls weakly against the rope binding his wrist to the arm. He is no threat. I turn my attention instead to Will, to the righteousness in those beautiful eyes. They burn in the moonlight. I barely breathe as I await his signal. It’s subtle when it first sweeps over him, but it will rise. He slips out of his shirt. I want to touch him, to feel his skin, his fire. I want him to burn into me, to brand me as his. I want to stand next to him, at the centre of his conflagration. To witness the passion of his righteous anger as it flares. For this is how he kills, and it is who he kills. I will go wherever he points.

 

Will stands. Slipping his knife from his pocket, he flicks it open. The blade glints in the night. Will slices through the binds that hold the man’s limbs to the chair. The man doesn’t move, but I take my place behind him just in case. Will’s staring our guest, his victim, in the eye, both confirming and committing to memory. I glance at our guest. Bleary, he blinks, eyes fixed on Will’s face. He’s started mumbling, questions perhaps. I never listen, my attention trained on the smiling predator before me. I place my hands on the back of the chair, inches from our victim’s neck, in case he should move before Will is prepared. Nothing will harm him while I am alive.

 

A sharp snap cuts through the anticipation. I smell the ammonia before our guest jolts awake. Will hauls him from the chair by his shirt, and leans into his ear. I’m never sure what he says, but this one, like the others, shoves Will away and looks to me. The whites of his eyes shine. He turns to bolt, but Will strikes faster than thought. His blade cuts deep, each movement so precise. He slices quickly, through skin and fat and muscle. Nicking bone, he laughs. It rings in the air. A chime of utter beauty, lovely and rare. Its notes dissipate with the breeze. I pull my knife and join the dance. We move as one, every step anticipated, swift and sure. We match each other perfectly. We kill together perfectly, and this rabbit ripped to shreds between us, his skin parts like silk. It is beautiful.

 

Our victim lashes out, kicking at Will’s knee. Will stumbles and our victim lunges. Fear is a foreign chill. It freezes and burns. I pounce, a snarl curling my lip, to protect him and destroy this invading emotion. _Will’s existence makes me weak._ I would suffer for him, die for him. I always betray myself, because without him I wouldn’t wish to exist at all. I would fight anything, to keep him safe, to keep him mine. For him, I could overcome any odds. I would come out victorious. _Will’s existence makes me strong._

 

I catch our victim by the wrist. He has barely moved an inch. I twist his arm up behind his back. He hisses as I haul him up on the tips of his toes. He barely touches the ground. His breath catches as, gasping, choking, he struggles weakly in my arms. He’s exhausted. He’s lost too much blood and he barely twitches against me now.

 

I watch only Will, staring at him as he straightens back up. He meets my eye. The feral grin that splits his face is all the reassurance I need. He glides to me, and the man in my arms begins to mumble, begging for his life perhaps. I do not care. Will covers his mouth. The man begins whimpering and Will roughly grabs his jaw and turns his face away. Will has me now. I can’t look away from the dark fire in his eyes. I feel Will shift and, from the sobs pouring from our victim, I know Will’s blade is at his throat. Will leans in, so slowly as though time has stood still. His eyes don’t flutter shut until his lips touch mine. The final cut is made as Will takes my mouth. I nearly sob as warmth pours over my arm, and Will’s warmth settles firmly in my belly. I kiss him back desperately.

 

Dropping the meat between us, I grab the back of his head. I pull his hair, twisting fingers in his curls and crush him against me. I take his mouth, invade his space. Stepping over the body at my feet, I crowd Will back, one step, two steps, three back against the railing of the deck. I feel his arms come up around my shoulders. His heat folds around me, hands grasping at the back of my shirt. We nip and bite at each other. Will draws blood from my lip and purrs under his breath. I push us apart. I can't… He’s all I see, I smell, I feel… I just need to breathe a moment.

 

I simply stare at him, in all his spattered glory. I yearn to follow the blood as it rolls down his chest, with my shaking hands, with my quivering lips and eager tongue. I want to taste the death we’ve wrought, now sprayed across his skin. He pulls me. I cannot escape his gravity, so l will fall to him again and again. I bury my face in the side of his neck. He smells of salt and sand, beneath the copper tang of blood. My aftershave clings to the back of his neck, his hair, from this morning.

 

_Our breakfast was eggs and sausage, and teasing and breaking. First to shatter was my restraint, then his plate and glass as they crashed to the dining room floor. But he was the first to cry out._

 

He would be again.

 

I wish to prostrate myself before him. I drop to my knees instead. His taste now as familiar as the sight, the sound and the smell. A choking gasp escapes him. His hands grab my head, fingers curling and pulling my hair now. I do not need to see him to know the moment his face tells its story of agony and ecstasy. The sounds that escape his lips are both a curse and gratitude. I drink them in. I drink him in.

 

I rest my forehead on his thigh, my hands still on his hips. His breathing subsides, lost to the sound of the waves. I slip my hand into his pant pocket, certain of what I will find. With ridiculous attention to detail, he's always prepared.

 

_Sometimes we make it inside the house._

 

Tonight we do not.

 

I pick him up. A gasp escapes his lips and I carry him to the closest lounge chair. I toss him down. His laugh chimes out, not surprise, delight. I take him then. He is mine. He is something of which I have never dreamed, could never dream. He is something I never imagined I’d ever want, let alone someone I could ever have. Love had been the distant past, buried beneath sorrows, long dead.

 

I run my fingers along his skin, down his chest, across his stomach. The scar beneath my hand is a signpost, the turning point of another life. The way he moves against me yanks me into the present. The taut muscles of his abdomen twitch as he arches. I feel them beneath the small swell of his belly. Neither of us is immune to the passage of time, though he wears his years far more gracefully. As long as he smiles with a secret joke in his eyes, he will always remain my beautiful boy.

 

When we’ve finished, I curl myself around him. I am his shelter, his warmth. I slowly run my fingers through his hair. His curls are damp and wish to stick to his forehead, to hide his eyes from me. I brush them back. He smiles up at me with love. He is beyond beautiful. _He is magnificent._ I can still see the flush of his blood speckled skin. I pause to memorize, to absorb the sight of him in this very moment. He’s the one who finally breaks the spell. His hand is in my hair, pulling me in to meet him halfway. He closes the distance. His lips pressing to mine, and his tongue teasing, I taste him deeply.

 

I pull back a fraction of an inch. He’s still smiling. I place a gentle kiss to the corner of his mouth and the tip of his nose. Moving slowly up, he humours me and closes his eyes. I kiss each lid, before coming to rest against his forehead. This scar beneath my lips, another signpost. It was a turn the wrong way, falsely guided, a misstep that nearly cost me dear. I apologize again with a kiss and a soft whimper. Words aren't needed any more.

 

_He knows._

 

_He knows me._

 

_He knows himself._

 

_He knows us._

 

I pull back so that I can see him once more. I hold his face in my hands, caressing his cheeks. The scar beneath my thumb the latest signpost, marking the end of one journey and the beginning of another. And this magnificent being, stretched out beneath me, has chosen to take this journey with me. He has chosen to be here, beneath the moon, by the sea, with the breeze smelling of blood and sex and butterfly jasmine.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading, and any kudos or comments!
> 
>  
> 
> [Join me on Tumblr](https://wraithsonwingsposts.tumblr.com/).


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